Know Better
by Len
Summary: Sharona contemplates her taste in men. A "Mr. Monk and the Earthquake" post-ep quickie.


Know Better  
A Sharona Post-Ep  
Spoilers: "Mr. Monk and the Earthquake"  
Summary: Sharona contemplates her taste in men. An Introspective!Sharona piece.  
Rating: PG for mild swearing.  
Disclaimer: Nime! Nime lal! Ton! sheet accarthres nolbeg ot ASU, nad oshtorf.  
Note: Decode the above and I'll give you a cookie.  
More Notes: My first Monk fic. Sorry for inaccuracies - I'm still trying to find my Monk "groove", lol.  
Still More Notes: Feedback would be the bomb, more so than even Willie Nelson's tour bus.  
  
  
  
  
I should have known better. I know that, he knows that...augh! It's just so frustrating, though - y'know? "Just be careful, Sharona," he said.  
  
  
Yeah, Sharona. Be careful. Why don't you listen to the man with the freakish powers of observation every once in a while?   
  
  
Damn it!  
  
  
I get ticked because Adrian seems to only ever use his head and never his heart - and look at me! As if I'm much better. Do you realize how many crooks I've tried to date in the last year? If one is too many, three is enough to make a girl seriously think about devoting her life to the Church. I should have listened to Adrian. At least he seems to realize that if an interesting, attractive man is showing an interest in me - a thirty something divorcee with a *kid*, for crying out loud - there's probably something going on. And it's not in the mojo department, either.  
  
  
So now I'm watching the Captain lead a pair of beaten and bloodied murderers out of my house, and trying to figure out exactly how to avoid this next time. Because three times *is* too much. You think that Adrian's ever going to let me out on a date again after this? Nooo!! Not Mr. "I Was Right And You Were Wrong"... Well, he hasn't said it yet, but he will. I know he will.  
  
  
God, I can still feel the knife against my throat.  
  
  
Okay, so it's time to be honest, Sharona - at least to myself. After all, isn't that what all those quizzes in the magazines tell you to be? Well, here it goes: I have a type. And as much as it seems like that type seems to be men with homicidal tendencies, I swear it's not. I'm just a sucker for brown eyes. And the hair - the hair definitely plays into it, as well. Curly, dark hair, the kind a girl just wants to run her fingers through...  
  
  
Okay, the accent probably had something to do with it, as well. An Australian accent is sexy in any context, and when combined with the above...well, it's a lethal combination.  
  
  
Lethal. Sheeze, talk about your Freudin slips, huh?  
  
  
It's true, though. Christiane had an accent, too - fake, of course. Some kind of Upper-Class Schmarmy. He sounded like a guy who'd gone to a high-price school. Isn't *that* pathetic - I melt at the vaguest *idea* that someone really clever could take an interest in me.  
  
  
Alright. So what have we learned, Sharona? First, I think there are definitely some self-esteem issues to deal with. Secondly, it's time to eat a pretty big plate of crow when it comes to listening to Adrian.  
  
  
And here he comes now. Somehow, in the midst of a Police crime scene and the general chaos, he's managed to find a broom. There's already a bruise on his face, but he doesn't seem to be too bothered by it. I should get some ice for it.  
  
  
I watch him sweep the big chucks of plaster into a pile, managing to push more dust into the air than anything else. Adrian notices this, too, and stops. He disappears out of the room, muttering something about a "Shop Vac".  
  
  
Sigh. What the heck - he's not hurting anybody. And it's not like I was looking forward to cleaning up this mess anyway. I'll get him some ice in a minute. If the freezer hasn't thawed everything while the power's been out.  
  
  
"We got a knife," I hear one of the officers say, holding the weapon aloft. It glints in the light. A steak knife. I don't believe it - he was going to kill me with a *steak knife*?  
  
  
What an embarrassing way to go.  
  
  
But...oh, God. I think I need to sit down.  
  
  
That's it, Sharona. Deep breaths. You're okay. You're okay.  
  
  
"You're okay?"  
  
  
I look up. Adrian's standing there, looking worried and somewhat worse for wear. The Shop Vac is nowhere in sight. I nod. "I know. I'm fine. I just..."  
  
  
Swallow. Look away.   
  
  
He puts a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is awkward to him, all touch is awkward. I know this and it so it means even more. "Sharona - I...I'm glad you're...okay."  
  
  
"Yeah, well - thanks to you," I turn slightly to face him. "That was really something, Adrain. Thank you."  
  
  
His dark eyes smile for a moment, and he looks at me in that way he has - you know, when he's solved the case and is happy...almost....with the outcome? He shines when he does that. It's no wonder Benjy thinks he's Super Detective.  
  
  
And I smile back, even though when the plaster dust settles I'll probably realize I should have looked away. I should know better.  
  
  
Adrian gives my shoulder one last pat before returning to his determined cleaning. I watch him. Thinking. Wondering.  
  
  
Maybe one of these days I'll know better.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The End 


End file.
